


Hurt.

by Jennajen, Sonamyluffer101



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Papyrus - Freeform, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Insert, Smoking, Underswap Papyrus, reader - Freeform, us pap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennajen/pseuds/Jennajen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamyluffer101/pseuds/Sonamyluffer101
Summary: Pain.It's only enjoyable when you inflict it upon yourself.





	Hurt.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GalaxyBrownies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyBrownies/gifts).



> So, neither of us have ever written Underswap Papyrus... or any Papyrus before, really. So, hopefully, this isn't complete garbage.
> 
> Honestly, we probably won't ever write him again, either.
> 
> *WARNING*
> 
> Triggers: Self harm and self deprecating thoughts.

_ It doesn't hurt. _

 

It never really did, to begin with. You would have expected pain when you first started, since you were literally cutting into your own flesh, but no… it never hurt, despite how fragile and delicate your skin was. It was more so relaxing, really. Therapeutic in some ways. The only downfall you ever saw was that it left these scars behind.

 

They were ugly… but you still liked them. They were the only thing you liked about yourself, really. Everything else about you was just disgusting… not right.

 

Your relationship with your marks was almost bi-polar. One day you loved them more than anything, and the next they made you physically  _ sick. _

 

_ Slice. _

 

...So here you were, in the bathroom your boyfriend’s house… which technically was now  _ your _ house too. He wasn’t home… nobody was home. You were all alone in the house, trapped with nothing but your thoughts as they ran wild, eating at you constantly, telling you how worthless and  _ disgusting  _ you were.

 

...You wanted them to stop.

 

And the only way you knew how to make them shut up, was by doing this. You knew it was wrong, and you knew it was gross… you were literally _ mutilating  _ yourself for no reason, all because of these sick thoughts in your head. You were given a body, which was so precious on its own, and  _ this _ was what you chose to do with it.

 

_...Slice. _

 

You knew exactly what Papyrus would say if he found you like this. He would call you stupid, indirectly of course, for hurting what was his, and then kiss you until you felt a bit better. But a small part of you didn’t  _ want _ to feel better. Sometimes you just wanted to wallow in your own misery... You didn’t know if that made you selfish or not, but… it sure felt like it.

 

_ You felt like you didn’t deserve him. _

 

But… there was another part of you that was afraid of what he would think, if he found you like this. You feared he might leave you, or think you were a _ freak _ … you knew it was irrational, you knew he loved you, but you were still afraid. What if he saw this, and he thought differently of you?

 

_...Slice. _

 

_ What if he left you all alone? _

 

_... _

 

You didn’t want that to happen. You felt reliant on him at this point… he was all you really had. You had a few friends, sure, but… you wouldn’t exactly _ call  _ them ‘friends’. They were just people you knew. People who put up with you because of _ convenience  _ sake.

 

You honestly felt like most of them hated you. They acted fake most of the time, excluding you, only really asking you to hang out when they needed or wanted something from you… they acted as leeches, but never really cared enough about you for anything other than their benefit.

 

_ That hurt more than the actual physical pain, you inflicted onto yourself. _

 

...You heard the door open downstairs, but… you didn’t really want to get up. You knew it was probably just Sans coming home, and you knew he wouldn’t come into the bathroom, so you didn’t bother.

 

_ Slice. _

 

You continued what you were doing, and you continued drowning in your own self - deprecating thoughts. Because of that, you never really heard the call of your name, wondering if you were home, nor did you hear the stairs creaking as the voice slowly made its way up the stairs, getting closer to you, until it opened the bathroom door.

 

You didn’t really process until you were staring up into the eye sockets of your boyfriend, knife still very obviously on your wrist, halfway through a cut, that he was home.

 

That he had caught you.

 

You had both the knife and your hands behind your back as soon as you properly processed what was happening, but you knew that it was too late.

 

_ He saw you. _

 

“...I can explain,” you told him, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes. The  _ one _ day you didn't want him to come home early, of course had to be the day it happened. Because it was you, and that was just your luck. The universe loved nothing more than to fuck with you, and to hurt you.

 

Always.

 

He just stood there, for what felt like hours, staring at you. He looked completely shocked, standing like a statue, unlit cigarette in his mouth. He had most likely been about to light it, when he realized you were in the bathroom. He probably wanted to check on you before going to relax…

 

But of course, you had to ruin that. Cause more stress.

 

_ Selfish. _

 

“...honey?” he asked, voice slightly choked, probably holding back tears of his own.

 

...You never wanted that. You never wanted to hurt him.

 

_ Never him. _

 

In the next instant he was holding you, knife gently pried from your hands as he picked you up, holding you almost possessively. You tried to reach for the knife, but then suddenly, you couldn’t see it anywhere.

 

You knew it was gone for good, so you gave up on fighting. You laid limply in his arms as you watched him carefully, anticipating his next move.

 

_ What were either of you even suppose to do in this situation? _

 

He was never meant to find out. You were always super careful… sex with the lights off, and even sometimes keeping your shirt on. He wasn’t supposed to know.

 

He stood up, still holding onto you and brought you into the bedroom, where he sat down on your shared bed, and he hugged you close to his ribcage.

 

He let out a shaky breath, clearly thinking of the correct way to word his thoughts, knowing he had to be careful in a situation like this one. He knew your mind was fragile, and the slightest thing could completely set your mind spiralling even more downwards than it already was.

 

“...why?” was all he managed to say after a few more moments of silence.

 

“...Why?” you repeated, confused, and unsure of how to respond. That could have meant a million different things.  _ Why are you such an idiot? Why are you ruining yourself? Why are you doing this to me? _

 

You didn't know which one he meant.

 

“...why are you deliberately hurting yourself?”

 

“It’s… not that easy to explain,” you admitted with a dry laugh. You had cried so much before all of this, that your throat felt drier than a desert.

 

“just try,” he asked, his voice almost pleading. He sounded somewhat desperate, still on the verge of tears.

 

“...It feels nice,” you told him, trying almost desperately to form a good sentence, “Helps make the voices go away.”

 

He looked dumbfounded. Completely stuck on what to say next, so he just ran his phalanges through your hair, trying to calm both of you down. “...don’t listen to the voices.”

 

You leaned into his hand as he ran it through your hair, almost content if not for the conversation you two were currently having. “I wish it was that easy.”

 

“...don’t hurt yourself, sugar.”

 

“It doesn’t hurt,” you protested.

 

“it hurts your skin. leaves scars. makes things so much worse in your head, even if you aren’t aware of it,” he explained, kissing your forehead.

 

You looked down, avoiding eye contact. “...I kinda like the scars,” you told him, quietly.

 

“...why?” he asked, clearly confused.

 

“They’re the one part of me that I can actually _ control _ .”

 

“you can control your hair. cut or color it. your clothes. nails. makeup. there are so many things you can do other than cutting that won’t leave permanent damage.”

 

“My actual body. Not the exterior. Something permanate about myself that I can change. They’re… pretty.”

 

“get tattoos,” he offered, now tracing the scars on your arm gently.

 

“It’s a lot of work and it costs money. It also doesn’t help with the voices and stuff.”

 

“and after you cut yourself, do the voices come back?”

 

You only shrugged in response. 

 

_ Of course they did. They always came back. _

 

“they do, right?” he asked, sounding more accusing than you assumed he meant to.

 

“...Yeah,” you told him, not bothering to deny it. There was no point, really. He always saw through your lies, and always called you out on them.

 

“so really, it doesn’t solve anything,” he muttered, lifting your arm up gently to leave a soft kiss on your wrist.

 

“It helps for a little while,” you protested, disagreeing with him as your face flushed a bit with embarrassment. You still weren’t very good with affection, especially when it was so foreword. 

 

“but then afterwards, all you have left is a stinging sensation, and a mind full of bickering voices. right?” he told you. He didn’t ask. He didn’t have to, because he already knew.

 

You just sighed. You couldn’t deny what he said, and you didn’t exactly want to confirm it to him either. He knew why, and he knew  _ what _ this was. He knew exactly why you were doing it, and he knew exactly what it felt like in your head. And  _ you _ knew that you shouldn’t even be doing it in the first place, but…

 

A part of you really didn’t want to stop.

 

And that part of you was constantly fighting with the other half, who  _ did _ want to stop. Wanted this to end, and wanted to be normal.

 

_ Happy. _

 

“...exactly,” he said, leaving another kiss on your wrist, “...so stop, okay? just... just  _ talk _ to me. even if i’m not here, just call me. or even text me, i don’t care. just don’t do  _ this… _ okay?”

 

“I don’t…” you started to protest, but decided against it, and tried again, “I… can’t promise anything.”

 

“...just try,” he compromised, knowing that was at least a push in the right direction. The start of breaking an addiction.

 

“...Okay,” you told him with a slow nod, “I can… I can try.”

 

He let out a relieved sigh, knowing that was the best he was going to get, and the pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket before lighting the cigarette in his mouth. “good... i don’t like it when you hurt your body.”

 

...You had the sudden urge to slap him.

 

“...And I don’t like when you hurt yours,” you told him, staring at the cigarette in his mouth. That was extremely hypocritical, and felt somewhat offended by it.

 

“...hurt mine?” he asked, taking a drag from the fag and looking down at you in confusion.

 

“Yes. Like with that cancer stick hanging out of your mouth,” you said, gesturing to it dramatically.

 

“...baby,” he started, blowing the smoke away from you, “...i don’t have lungs.”

 

...Oh.

 

Shit. He had a point.

 

“That…” you trailed off, “...that’s just not fair.”

 

He chuckled, deeply, leaving a soft kiss on your head. “how is it not fair, honey? i can’t help that i’m a monster.”

 

“I want to be able to smoke without worrying about what it’ll do to me,” you told him, with a little pout, “I know it’s relaxing, I just don’t wanna end up doing any permanent damage to my body...”

 

_ The inside, anyways. _

 

“...shouldn’t have been born with lungs then,” he told you, playfully, giving you a wink, and taking another drag.

 

~~_...Maybe you shouldn’t have been born at all. _ ~~

**Author's Note:**

> Think before you comment.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/skelesansation)
> 
> [Jenna's Tumblr.](http://multimod.tumblr.com//)


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